


One Day Like This

by il_mio_capitano



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-01 02:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/il_mio_capitano/pseuds/il_mio_capitano
Summary: Post-Chosen. Giles has reluctantly been holding the fort as Acting Headmaster at his old school for Watchers. Will an end of term party and a reunion of the scoobies raise his spirits? Written for Summer-of-Giles.





	One Day Like This

**Title: One Day Like This**

As Giles approached the Headmaster’s office that morning, he reproached himself for the childish urge to wipe the sweat off his palms and hesitantly knock at the door. He was a grown man after all and this was now his office, but still, the old unease was hard to shake even after three months in his current job.

Sir Henry Bloomfield’s death had surprised many, for if any man could achieve immortality through sheer stubbornness of personality it would have been Sir Henry. His determination to resist change at the Watcher’s Academy was the stuff of legend and yet, at 84 years of age and having been Headmaster for almost 50 years, he had not succumbed to bucolic rage at the approach of Progress, but had instead died peacefully in his sleep, leaving Buffy’s new Council with some big shoes to fill in a key area of training and field preparation for Watchers aged thirteen to eighteen. Unfortunately he also took all his knowledge about running such a school with him, leaving zero documentation for any successor, and leaving Giles, who had been reluctant to return the Academy in the first place, feel his feet grow even smaller at the task Buffy had set him.

The office was a reasonable size yet furnished sparingly, with just two rickety wooden chairs, an admittedly impressive leather topped desk and a green leather chair that had been worn baby smooth with use. Sir Henry didn’t believe in entertaining visitors with luxuries like comfortable guest seating, forcing dignitaries and parents onto the two creaking wooden chairs if they wanted an audience with the great man in that office. Giles remembered the desk from standing opposite often enough, stammering explanations for misdeeds real or imagined. He threw his jacket haphazardly on the back of one of the parents chairs, sat down behind his desk and shot a baleful glare at the only affectation of the room, for at right angles on the wall was a huge full length portrait of the old Headmaster in gown and displeasure. Painted to commemorate his knighthood and hung, no doubt, in such a way as to intimidate all that came before it. If he worked late at night, Giles often fancied the sneer followed him around the room.

“Good morning, Rupert,” a voice purred in his ear and Giles started. Somehow that damned woman always managed to ghost into any room behind him.

“Good morning, Mrs Grant,” he replied evenly. He had inherited Sir Henry’s secretary, a woman of indeterminate age somewhere between sixty and eighty and who, though he had never invited her to use his first name, made it was clear from the tone she used when bandying it, was completely incredulous to his authority. She had worked there for the past ten years and though Giles may well have figured out the finances, brought in new staff, broadened the curriculum and expanded the remit to include some of the Slayers who had lost family and homes, he still had a nasty feeling that in her eyes, he was just a 12 year-old upstart who was going to be found out for dressing up and pretending to be in charge.

“The weather forecast is still holding hot and sunny today,” she began, “so what on earth are you wearing?”

He looked in puzzlement at his tweed waistcoat, trousers, pale blue shirt and sombre tie.

“What? Why? This is what I always wear.” It was certainly the look he’d adopted for the role. “I mean, it’s a clean shirt every day of course,” he felt compelled to explain.

“Not today, Rupert. It’s the end of term cricket match, today.”

“We don’t all have to wear white, Mrs Grant. I’m hardly going to be playing. If you ask me this school is getting far too wrapped up in one little game of cricket as is it. It’s not that important.”

“Hush your mouth,” she said sharply yet in such a way Giles couldn’t tell how serious she was. She rolled her eyes to the portrait on the office wall, “The Headmaster,” she paused, “your predecessor I mean,” she corrected. “He set great store by it.”

“Well I don’t,” he reminded her a little primly.

“Everyone deserves a little fun, Rupert. The cricket match is traditional and has always been a keen source of excitement for the young people.”

“And the not so young,” he countered, but she ignored him.

“So you could at least make more of an effort to pretend you’re joining in.”

“Is there any chance you could make me a cup of tea?” She gave a pearly laugh and performed her part of the ritual they struck up for the past three months.

“Very little, dear. You know where the kettle is.” She picked up his jacket from the chair he’d dumped it on and hung it up properly on a hanger on the door, “Of course everyone is excited. Mr Jones and the ground staff have done us proud with the pitch and wicket. We’re all looking forward to seeing some of the new Slayers play.”

“Oh god, Slayers playing cricket, we shall have to fortify all the windows,” groaned Giles. “And can you have my car moved to the underground car park?”

“Don’t be silly, dear.”

At that moment, Andrew Wells bounced brightly into his office. Since Sunnydale, Andrew had been determined to work with the new Council and Giles had found him quite hard to shake. Somehow, he had gotten himself a position on staff, though often he sat in on the classes. He had enthusiasm, there was no disputing that, and he was thorough. That morning he was wearing immaculate white cricket flannels, with white shirt and even a cream cable jumper on top.

“Isn’t it exciting, sir?” he enthused with such a decibel level that Giles actually winced and closed his eyes. “I’ve double checked everything with housekeeping and catering. All A-OK for lift off. And I’ve moved the staff cars including yours, to the underground parking lot.” Giles shot her a smug told-you-so look but Mrs Grant merely shook her head as Andrew continued. “It’s going to be so romantic. Like a Merchant Ivory film if they’d ever made one about cricket. Everyone was worried you’d cancel it because you don’t like the game, but I’ve been practicing with a bat and I know all the fielding positions and the rules. I’m going to check with Mr Hodges about the boundary ropes. Ta tar.”

Giles opened his eyes again cautiously and even his secretary seemed to need a moment to process.

“We’re not going to have to worry about the weather with Mr Andrew around,” she said finally. “He’s a little ray of sunshine all himself.”

“Why is he dressed like that? What have you been telling everyone?” grumbled Giles.

“Everyone has the school spirit but you. He’s rather desperate to take part. Of course it would be a pity if no-one were to pick him for their team.” She eyed him meaningfully as she spoke.

“For the last time, I’m not interested in your silly game. I’m only here temporarily and I’m certainly not picking the teams.” He waved his hand at the portrait “That was Sir Henry’s way of doing things and it was unfair. This year we draw lots for the captains and let them pick their own teams and there’s an end to it. Next year you can do what you like, I won’t be here.”

Either he had won the point or she chose to ignore it for she changed the subject smoothly.

“We had some overnight arrivals. Miss Summers flew in with Mr Harris and Miss Rosenberg. I’ve put them up in a couple of the guest quarters though Miss Rosenberg was staying with Miss Kennedy in the staff section of course.”

Giles perked up at that unexpected news. “I wasn’t expecting them. You should have called me.”

“It was very late and I gathered they went straight to bed. Mr Harris certainly looked like he needed it.”

“He’s been through a bit of a rough time.”

“So I’ve heard. Anyway,” She passed him his latest correspondence, “the draw for the two captains will take place at 10:00, with team picks straight after.”

Giles feigned interest in one of his letters and murmured, “Oh you don’t need me for that.”

Mrs Grant took a deep, patient breath. “Yes we do. I know you don’t want all the trappings of responsibility, but you still have to be there. Besides, Miss Summers said she was freshening up and would see you at the draw.”

He crumbled at that and nodded that he would attend.

“Excellent. Gives you time to change your clothes for something whiter,” she added sweetly as she turned away, evading Giles’ low growl as she ghosted out the room.

@@@

It was shaping up to be an excellent day. The clouds were merely wisps in a deep blue sky and the high, ancient trees in the wood at the back of the school stood proud with barely a hint of a breeze to disturb them. Giles had removed his waistcoat and tie as a limited concession and made his way to the sports pavilion. Two small crowds seemed to have formed, one by the steps where the draw was due to take place and the other seemed to be flocking in an excited circle. As Giles approached and his height advantage paid off, he could see that it was Buffy that was the centre of attention. She was fielding questions and smiling politely, making eye contact with as many of the crowd as she could. Giles could only marvel at the confidence she exuded. She was Head of a Council that she’d built up from the ashes of the old corrupt organisation. Someone had once asked him if it was weird to have a 23 year-old woman as his boss but Giles didn’t think of it that way at all. She’d pretty much always been the boss of him since the day they’d met.

Andrew had evidently bought a blue snazzy blazer to complete his ensemble and making himself busy, checking names on a whiteboard and consulting with Mrs Grant who was checking the same names into a bag for the draw.

Willow’s voice called out behind him. “Giles!” He turned and beamed as she moved forward and embraced in a hug that spoke of affection and shared experiences. He held her tightly for as long as he dared but even when they pulled apart she hung onto his arms and smiled still. He pulled a stray lock of her hair from her eyes.  His Willow.

“How’s Hogwarts?” she asked.

“We survive. You’re a lovely surprise. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Kennedy and I have travel plans after term ends and then when Buffy told me what happened and that she was bringing Xander here, I thought I’d better get over here as well.”

“How is he?”

“I don’t know. He won’t talk to any of us. You’ll have to help him.”

“Me?”

“It’s a guy thing,” Kennedy explained. “Take him out to a bar, get him loaded, find out what’s up.”

Giles felt insulted on behalf of his gender. “That’s not ‘a guy thing’. That’s an alcoholics thing. And we know what’s up with Xander. His Slayer died and he’s upset about it. I don’t need to corrode my liver to work that much out.”

Kennedy shrugged. “It’s a Watcher thing then. Something is bugging him about it. You need to fix him.”

“It’s a Giles’ thing,” Willow insisted softly. “He needs to talk to you.”

She left him little choice when she used her persuasive voice so Giles nodded and was rewarded with a smile in turn. Further conversation was prevented as Mrs Grant’s voice rang out from the steps of the Pavilion to call the assembly to order.

“I know having Miss Summers with us is very exciting, but there will be plenty of time for everyone to speak with her later. Can I ask you to gather round as we draw for the two team captains.”  Most of the group dispersed reluctantly leaving only some of the eighth graders to stare at her still. Giles got a chance to smile shyly at Buffy across the tops of their heads and was rewarded with a dazzling smile in return.

The draw began and Kennedy’s name was drawn first which caused a lot of excited chatter among the interested Slayers. Willow’s girlfriend was a popular member of the faculty and brought a keen competitive edge to everything she did. Giles had been surprised she’d wanted to work with him, but the influx of Slayers meant new ideas and training methods and he was grateful to the disciplined organisation she had instilled to the school. To the neutrals, her appointment as one of the team captains lent spice to the match. Kennedy always played to win and the betting syndicates sat up and took note.

“And the opposing captain will be,” there was a pause whilst Mr Harbottle from Accounts drew and unfolded a slip of paper. Giles looked across to Andrew who had balled his fists and was muttering please, please, please. Giles didn’t doubt he’d memorised all the rules. His thoroughness at tasks went a long way to offset his occasional annoyingness. The young man wanted to play and to be a part of things, very badly. He wouldn’t have been allowed through the school gates in the old days. It was dark thoughts like that that kept Giles rather happy at the changes he’d introduced. He knew he had a little streak of anarchy in him and he exercised it now by mumbling a quick spell.

Mr Harbottle finally managed to get the paper the right way up and read, “Andrew Wells.”

“YES!” cried a blazered figure jumping into the air. Several of those hoping to be picked as players began to congratulate him.

Giles eyed all the magically inclined people but none of them reacted. Only Willow looked at him sharply. She was so off the scale that nothing got past her but Andrew’s elation was overwhelming and eventually, she smiled her eyes in agreement to what Giles had just fixed.

After that there was much buzzing and jockeying for team places. Each captain could pick only ten further players. Kennedy picked Willow (of course), but otherwise stuck to a shrewd junior Slayer policy. Andrew was picking his friends from both students and staff and there seemed to be a lot of joking and joshing around. Giles drifted off to the corner of the throng where he saw Buffy was comparatively alone. She looked older and confident, her hair was shoulder length and she wore casual white capri pants and a tee-shirt. She looked golden in the sunlight.  She smiled warmly as he approached but hugged him very briefly and with one arm. Giles had been prepared to throw propriety out of the window and hug her with the same life affirming intensity he’d shown Willow but Buffy was formal and backed away quickly, withdrawing her hand from his touch as a final act of separation. She was the boss of course.

“I’m so pleased you came,” began Giles tentatively. There was a time when he hadn’t a clue what was going on in her head, and there had equally been a time when he understood her all too well. Now that they worked on different continents, he feared with three months absence she was almost treating him as a junior employee. ‘Ah Mr Giles, whatever happened to him? Wasn’t he that funny Librarian back in High School? Didn’t we appoint him to pretend to be a Headmaster somewhere these days?’

“Have you spoken with Xander yet?” she cut into his thoughts, straight to business.

“No, I haven’t seen him.”

“I need you to talk to him, Giles.”

Giles stumbled over the first thing in his head. “Well I thought I might take him out for a drink or something…”

Buffy looked appalled. “That’s your strategy for helping him? Jeez.”

“I’m not exactly a trained counsellor,” he said defensively, stung by her criticism more than he cared to articulate.

“But you know what it’s like to lose a Slayer,” she insisted.

“Yes, but as you keep coming back, my condolences will seem a little hollow.”

He avoided her eyes for a time and let the crassness of his argument dissipate on the breeze.

“I don’t get it,” Buffy said quietly. “He hadn’t known her very long. Only a couple of weeks.”

“Watchers can get very protective,” Giles mumbled and was rewarded with a brief smile of understanding as he sought the comfort of inspecting his shoes and looked for ways to change the subject. Fortunately he was rescued by Mrs Grant who, having ghosted up with her usual cat-like stealth,  proceeded to boom in his ear and make him jump.

“My dear Miss Summers!” she gushed before adding a slight barb. “And appropriately dressed I see.”

“Didn’t I fire you yesterday?” Giles griped.

She swatted him away effortlessly. “You don’t have that sort of authority, dear. As you keep reminding us, you’re only here temporarily.” She switched her attention to Buffy. “So glad you could come for the cricket match, Miss Summers. It’s always been the highlight of our year. Graduation is for parents and families, but the cricket is about the school and the community here.”

Giles felt his exclusion from the conversation keenly and grunted his disagreement.

“Rupert doesn’t believe in taking part but I’m so pleased you understand.”

“I know how important this sports thing is, Mrs Grant, but I’ve also come for an end of term report.” She smiled conspiratorially, “Check Giles’ report card here, see if he’s been making me proud.”

Giles dug his hands into his pockets and muttered, “Standing right here.”

But Mrs Grant was nodding seriously. “Of course. We’ll talk about how the past few months have been later then,” she said and drifted away to help collate with the picking of the team spots.

Buffy eyed Giles in amusement and asked, “What’s her deal?”

“She had a lot of loyalty to the previous headmaster. I don’t quite match up in her eyes.”

She patted his elbow. “I’m going to talk to a lot of people, don’t worry.”

“Then you’ll find from a lot of people how much of a fraud I am here. Maybe it’s best you find someone else for the permanent post. My predecessor left some formidable shoes to fill.”

She ran a hand through her hair to sweep it behind her ear before replying. “Rumour has it the bringers didn’t attack here because the First was afraid of him.”

He laughed. “Well that’s not me.”

“All the reports I’ve seen so far on the changes and the morale of the place sound like you’ve done OK.”

“Oh well, shouldering the burden,” he muttered. “I had hoped to see you here before now.”

Instead of an explanation, Buffy suddenly shifted around to use him as a shield against some of the crowd. “Oh no, oh no, oh no. It’s started!” she lamented. “Again! Look, I’m being stared at now. Talk to me Giles, don’t let them think they can come over. I’m Princess freaking Buffy to some of these kids. And I’m just me. Honestly Giles, you have no idea what’s it’s like to be respected.”

“No,” he agreed, “thank god you never let that get in the way of our relationship.”

“Idiot,” she teased, “You’ve never wanted to try for it anyway. Whereas some of these youngsters think I'm fabulous.”

“Yours is a heavy burden of destiny,” he mocked before returning to his glum theme. “They think I'm useless.”

“I'm sure they don't. Have you tried glaring at them?” she suggested. “Yes, that one. Exactly. That one will work.”

He gave up. “It never worked on you, you're laughing at me now.”

“Teasing maybe.” She surprised him by looping her arm through his and walking a little further away. “It’s strange being here and seeing all the lives I’ve changed. It doesn’t feel right to have them look at me like I’m some sort of goddess.”

In the background Giles could hear someone calling his name. It was Andrew.

“They just need to get to know you Buffy,” he said comfortingly. “The real you. Give them time.”

“They’re all so young and part of me thinks I’ve taken their lives from them.”

“You were fifteen when you were called and you didn’t get a choice.”

“Exactly I was only fifteen and I didn’t want any of it. How do we deal with the kids that feel like that too?”

“We don’t force them,” he said decisively. “We don’t make anybody do what they don’t want to do.”

The name calling got insistent, “Mister Giles!”

“What is it Andrew? I’m busy here,” he snapped.

“I’m picking you for my team, sir,” came the mumbled, apologetic reply.

“What? You can’t.” Giles felt panic rising, “I can’t. My name wasn’t in the hat for players.”

“Yes it was,” said Willow firmly, whilst maintaining a picture of innocence. His name was clearly written on the whiteboard with the other hopefuls. Evidently this was her price for keeping quiet about his magick earlier.

“What? Well er, I’m er, I can’t play. I have far too many appointments this afternoon.”

“No, they’re all cancelled,” chipped in secretary helpfully.

“Then you and I can spend the afternoon going through my diary, Mrs Grant,” he glared.

“Sorry,” she said brightly, “No can do. I’m the official Scorer.”

“Please Mr Giles,” Andrew said pleadingly.

“Come on Giles,” shouted Kennedy, “it will be fun.” Cries of “Yes, please do Mr Giles” came along with other shouts of encouragement. A small chorus of Gilesy Gilesy was swiftly glared down.

“Can’t deny your audience, Giles,” laughed Buffy. “They wouldn’t have chanted the old headmaster’s name.” Giles hung his head in despair and acquiescence. Buffy was right, his respect was shot to hell.

“In that case if Giles is playing for Andrew then I’ve decided my last pick should be,” Kennedy paused for effect, “Buffy Summers.”

“What? No way,” exclaimed Buffy mirroring Giles’ earlier panic.  “I only just got here and I definitely didn’t sign up to play.”

“I know but if Giles is playing, you should play too. It’s only fair.” Buffy looked to Giles for support but he just folded his arms and openly smirked at her discomfort.

The mumble of ‘only fair’ seemed to be taken up by the bystanders, even those hoping to play seemed happy to forego for Buffy. There was applause and excitement. Perhaps she was right about the reverence and awe they held her in.

“Alright, I’ll play, but how come you didn’t pick me till last?”

“I was going for youth mainly,” deadpanned Kennedy. “But if Giles is playing it’s only fair we balance the handicap.”

There was no time to respond as Andrew rushed to clap his hands to get attention, “Team talk everyone. Let’s plan our strengths and tactics. To the Pavilion!”

“Tactics?” queried Buffy as the two teams headed for separate planning and preparation areas. “Don’t we just hit the ball as hard as we can? Is this like Baseball?”

Willow threaded her arm through hers as they walked, “Kinda. More up and downy rather than round and round,” she explained.

“Come along, Mr Giles,” ordered Andrew. Giles stuffed his hands in his pockets, hung his head in mock obedience and followed. It had all the hallmarks of becoming a very long day.

@@@

Andrew won the toss and elected to have his team bat first. The spectators thronged the boundary ropes in mixed groups of the keen and the disinterested. Small groups formed on blankets or had brought chairs, the kitchen staff had provided a buffet and many people had also brought their own food and drink. Giles decided he didn’t want to know what sort of drink. He suspected that some of the older students might have smuggled some alcohol in somewhere, but so long as they were discrete, he was not disposed to make it his life’s mission to confiscate it. Kennedy’s team took to the field and went to their assigned areas to catch or at least stop the ball. There was good natured applause and banter from the spectators. Mr Harbottle and Ms Myers from Mystics had agreed to act as umpires with the additional rules that no magicks were permitted. Willow hadn’t really anticipated that clause and suddenly realised she’d signed up for a team sport that involved a very hard ball being either thrown or struck in her direction. Kennedy let her field deep on the boundary where she wouldn’t be likely to come into contact with the play. This had seemed a noble compromise though Willow felt silly.

Everybody seemed happy to be spending a day in the sun, eating, drinking and talking. Everyone mixed with everyone, and traded sandwiches and jokes. Sun cream was passed around, and hats found as the day began to heat up. Even Giles had conceded to the inevitable and changed into a pair of white shorts and polo shirt. His only other option being his best white Armani shirt but that would just look ridiculous.

Buffy was allocated to field in the far side of the pitch, Giles winced when he heard the reverential applause that greeted her when she took up her position. The game began as young Slayer named Susie opened the bowling. There was quiet for the first few balls, and enthusiastic applause for any contact from the batter. And then the chatter began and the majority of spectators sat back in their comfort to let the energetic people get on with their silly game.  A radio could be heard and another group had a guitar.

Giles was not high on the batting order, so he took himself off to find Xander. He was easy to spot amongst the sea of white and light colours; he sat on top of a small bank by himself, quite near to Buffy’s fielding position and yet watching the game rather morosely. It was a prime vantage spot, but no-one else dared go near him. The dark jeans, black iron maiden tee-shirt, three days beard growth and the eye patch intimated even Buffy’s young fan club. Giles scrambled up and sat next to him but didn’t speak. The two men stared as a trainee Watcher called Paul nervously hit a wayward ball and he and Andrew ran and swapped ends to score a run. Mrs Grant recorded it in her scorebook and instructed the youngsters in charge of the black wooden scoreboard to change the metal numbers that hung to reflect the increase.

Buffy turned her head to pair of them. “Hey Giles, should that not be two runs?”

“No, although both batsman have to complete the distance, it only counts as one run.”

“OK. How many innings are there in this thing?”

“One each. Our side all bat until 10 players are out and the last batter has no further partner, then we stop for lunch, then Kennedy’s team bat to try and beat our score.”

“A game with built in meal breaks huh? Only in England.”

“There are lots of ways to score runs, Giles continued helpfully, “and lots of ways a batsman can be out. I could write you out a list…”

But she held up a hand to stop his explanation. “I’m going to say no to the list and let myself be surprised.” And she turned her attention back to the game and starting pacing up and down.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” mumbled Xander. “This is a stupid game.”

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter about the rules,” said Giles. “People are just here for the fun, to be a part of something. It’s a nice day.”

“Yeah. The sun shines in England, who knew?” Xander said glumly. Giles sat quietly by his side and waited. A wasp buzzed at their shoes briefly before moving on and some people laughed at an unheard joke in the crowd opposite. “Do you ever think that it’s just pointless?” Xander began quietly. “So many of these youngsters are just going to get killed.”

Giles spoke evenly. “Then let them have their fun today.”

“Was it like this when you were here?”

“What? Fun?” Giles shifted a little uncomfortably, surprised at the personal question. “I’m not sure that’s the right word. Things were more rigid then. Participation was in the gift of the headmaster and spectatorship was compulsory.”

“You made your own fun?” Xander deduced.

“My friends and I used to take the opportunity to be elsewhere,” Giles replied neutrally, thinking back to a happy memory of Sir Henry ranting to the Assembly that his car had more miles on the clock and much less petrol in the tank than when he’d used it last. He’d been quite apoplectic in denouncing the culprit and demanding information that would lead to an expulsion and possibly criminal prosecution.

“High spirits. Lots of things are different now,” he added dismissively.

“Are we making a difference? Does any of this matter?” Giles dragged himself back to the now and to Xander; his friend that needed his help somehow.

“Yes,” said Giles, “we have to believe that.”

“I dunno. I’m just seeing young women die. Did they teach you how to deal with that in your day?”

“Not in the slightest. They taught us to avoid getting involved, to stay with your own, always the Council. That Slayers are just instruments, always another one around the corner. And that’s one of the ways we’re making a difference. Their lives do matter.  This game was about privilege to the old Council, and knowing your place in the pecking order. If you wanted to have fun, you had to make your own. But we care about what happens. Because we’re human. And because we’re grownups. That’s how we are making a difference.”

A wicket fell to applause and commiseration and it was some minutes before Xander spoke again.

“I don’t know if I can handle the responsibility. Sometimes I feel as old a dinosaur, but not old enough to know anything. Why should a Slayer listen to me? Miranda had been on her own for two years, without a clue about what happened, just knowing she had the capability to fight vampires. And then I show up with all the answers. And look how well that worked out. She goes out to one fight too many when I knew she shouldn’t.”

“It’s rough but you can’t be responsible for everything a Slayer does. They get the final choice in battle. They get to choose if they want to be stupid. All you can do is to pick the arguments that matter.”

“What if I made the wrong decision? What if someone dies because I messed up?”

“Did you make the wrong decision?” Giles asked carefully.

Xander looked stricken. “I must have.”

Buffy had ceased her pacing and after half an hour of boredom had decided she could be just as vigilant sitting on the grass as standing upon it.

“Buffy has been far more resilient than I had a right to expect. That she is alive today is not down to me at all. You’ve brought her back twice, whereas I made enough mistakes to kill her twenty times over. We do our best. We try to help. It’s all anyone can ask of us. All we can ask of ourselves.”

Xander snorted and looked Giles disconcertingly in the eye. “You don’t mess up, not really.” He spoke with such unshakable faith that Giles was quite moved.

“You have a selective memory in my favour then.  And possibly you don’t know all of my mess-ups.” The joke was meant as a distraction but Xander was not to be kidded out of his mood.

“I don’t want to mess up again. I don’t want that responsibility. I’m always going to be second-guessing myself. So I quit.”

“That’s your choice and no-one is asking you to make it now. Let’s just enjoy the day and see what happens.”

Buffy, who was evidently considering whether she could be equally important to her team if she actually sat down, was rudely disturbed when, to her surprise, the Watcher named Paul hit the ball towards her, she sat and watched it hit the boundary rope and bobble up towards Giles and Xander. There was some shouting from Kennedy in the middle of the pitch.

“I think they want you to throw it back, Buff,” said Xander.

“I think they wanted you to stop it before it went for four runs,” translated Giles. “The batter scores an automatic four runs if it reaches the boundary. Saves them having to do the running part. If you stop the ball crossing the line and throw it back to the wicket keeper quickly you minimise the amount they can score.”

“Oh,” said Buffy, throwing the ball back expertly to Kennedy. Her appreciative audience applauded the throw.

“You know what, Giles.” Buffy sat on the grass again. “This is a stupid game,” she declared, “might as well work on my tan though.” And with that she lay down, her interest in cricket officially at an end. Her fan club seemed to think it was the coolest thing they’d ever seen.

“I’m going to be called to bat soon,” said Giles as he rose to return to the Pavilion. “I should go and get ready.”  Xander, to his surprise, followed.

They returned to the scoring and changing area just as an enthusiastic Slayer named Helen had bowled with such ferocity that the nervous Watcher called Tom had actually moved out the way of the ball rather than have it break his legs. It broke the wooden stumps behind him instead. Kennedy had found herself a secret weapon and it had devastated the batting line up. From a confident start, Andrew was running out of team to hit the ball.

“Next batsman please, R.E. Giles,” Mrs Grant called out.

Tom walked back to the pavilion as if in shock. “How’s the wicket playing?” asked Giles conversationally, but the young man looked positively traumatised.

“Just went straight through….like I…I. Save yourself. Don’t go out there,” the young Watcher spluttered.

“Are you going to be OK out there?” asked Xander. “It actually looks a little rough. That ball is really solid and those girls could really damage someone. You’ve played in this match before right?”

“As I mentioned,” said Giles as he tightened the straps on leg pads, he selected a helmet and handed his glasses to Xander who looped them to the top of his tee-shirt. “The headmaster picked his favourites for the team in my day. He and I had had a bit of a falling out by then.” He pulled on the protective gloves and looked around the sky, “It’s a nice day for it.”

But Xander wasn’t so easily distracted and gripped his arm, “Shit, Giles, you’re going to get killed. I can’t let you do this.”

“Yes you can. Let me be stupid, Xander. It’s my choice to make.”

Xander nodded his comprehension but still looked concerned.

“But do you know how to play this game?”

“Ah.” Giles eyes flashed in dark amusement. “Now that’s a different question entirely,” he said and strode out with his bat to the middle of the pitch.

Giles discovered quite quickly that Slayer bowling was be pretty much as he’d expected it to be. No matter who delivered it, Helen or Cheryl, the ball came at him, hard and fast and always aimed at the same spot. They aimed for the three stumps and two small bails behind him with no originality in pace or precision. He blocked a few to experiment and then twirled his wrists at the next delivery and the ball shot away to the boundary ropes to score him four runs. Buffy looked up in surprise. She seemed to be the nearest again. Giles grinned wickedly.

For the next hour, Buffy’s quiet and peaceful afternoon in the sun was seriously hampered by Giles’ uncanny ability to send the ball to her fielding area. He could tell it was starting to piss her off, she would return the ball ever more furiously; sometimes more directed at him than towards Kennedy who, as wicketkeeper, had catching gloves.

Still, all good things must come to an end and though Giles, by contrast to Buffy, was thoroughly enjoying himself, an unfortunate mix up with Andrew meant he was run out. He took his dismissal good-naturedly and went to changing area to unbuckle the leg pads and hand them over to the next batsman. The head groundskeeper wandered up to him.

“Well played, Mr G,” Mr Hodges muttered as the crowd finishing applauding Giles’ efforts. “You don’t need to use strength if the ball already has pace.” Giles nodded, surprised the lugubrious older man had sought him out to comment favourably on something he’d done, when he hadn’t so much as offered a single grunt of protest or agreement to any the changes Giles had introduced in the school grounds in the past three months. This sentence being probably the longest Giles had ever recalled hearing from the man in that time. However, after nodding affirmatively, Hodges immediately evaporated away indicating it that this garrulousness was not to be mistaken as the start of anything that could be considered a conversation, leaving Giles to muse on the other man’s motivation for seeking him out in the first place. Perhaps he spoke merely as connoisseur of cricketing technique? The Slayers had certainly attempted to blast Giles away, and had failed spectacularly as he’d used their own pace against them. He chuckled and made a mental note to add ‘encountering low cunning’ to their curriculum in future.

“I think I should describe that as rather brave innings, Rupert,” said Mrs Grant welcoming him back to her scoring area.

“I was in no real danger.”

“Not yet perhaps but it might be worth avoiding Miss Summers for a while. She of course will have an opportunity to return the favour after lunch.” Not much escaped his secretary’s attention. “It didn’t look like she was seeing the funny side.”

There had been a fair amount of glaring from Buffy but Giles felt recklessly happy with himself. He was not required for anything until after lunch so decided to take a walk around the other side of the pitch for a change, and as he did so, he passed through some of the picnicking groups some of whom joked that by talking with them, he was putting as much distance between Buffy and himself as he could. Some expressed admiration at his sporting performance but Giles resisted the urge to bask in any praise.  Being banned from playing in the cricket match in his youth had hurt him more than he cared to admit, and it seemed slightly surreal to be congratulated thirty years too late. He walked on, stopping at any group that smiled at him, checking everyone was enjoying the day, and applauding evenly as runs were scored and the last few wickets fell. Lunch was announced when the 10th and final wicket fell and the game stopped for an hour.  Andrew’s team were all out for 104 which was a surprisingly good total considering the high concentration of chosen ones in the opposition. Giles was top scorer with 42 runs, of which maybe 30 of them he estimated to have been at Buffy’s expense. Not bad for an old guy.

He wandered cautiously back to the pavilion where food was being served. Mr Hodges and the ground staff were eating heartily along with the players from both teams. Preparing the ground and playing surface really had taken a lot of work and it looked superb in the summer sun, and Giles was pleased they were sharing the tables freely. He loaded his own buffet tray with meats, cheese, breads and olives and found a table seat with Xander, Willow and Kennedy.

Xander had loaded himself a plate of sandwiches and a salad bowl that was dripping its dressing over the sides. Surprisingly he’d changed from his black tee to a crisp white buttoned shirt which he left opened at the neck and, despite rolled sleeves, still had a beautiful cut and razor like creases to his elbows.

“Your ditzy secretary split fruit juice down me,” he explained as he waved a fork and a slice of tomato fell to the ground.

“And that shirt is….?” Giles asked, watching further salad items seemingly intent on making contact with the designer shirt.

“Something she found for me.”

“Looks familiar,” noted Giles, but it went above Xander’s head so he left it. His friend looked happier than when he’d left him before and though he doubted it was the shirt alone, his mood had clearly improved along with his appetite.

Kennedy had noticed the salad flying too and she shouted a word of apology to the groundskeeper at the next table. “We’re making a lot of mess for you, Mr Hodges. I’m sorry.”

He turned before thoughtfully replying, “That’s alright, miss. The lads will tidy everything later.”

“It’s their day off.”

“Oh but I’ve had a bet with them about which team will win. If I win the bet, they tidy, if they win, I do it all.”

“Never bet against a Slayer, Mr Hodges.”

“Of course not, miss.” He smiled respectfully. “Oh, Headmaster,” he paused for acknowledgement and it took Giles a whole two seconds to realise that he was the one being addressed. He’d clearly gone up in the older man’s opinion and was now to be treated to a second tête-à-tête in the space of an hour and a half.

“Yes?”

“There’s some of the young people in the coppice at the back. One of my lads said he saw them climbing some of the old oak trees. Bit unstable if you ask me. You’ll be wanting to take care of that.”

“Thank you for the information, Mr Hodges.” Undeterred by the extraordinary chattiness the groundskeeper had displayed, Giles nodded affirmatively and returned to his lunch. Amusingly, he realised Xander was staring at him and more specifically, staring in horror at his apparent lack of dynamic action.

“You’re just going to leave it like that?” the younger man asked. Giles nodded and inspected his salad. “But what if they fall out of the tree and get hurt?”

“If they are Slayers, then I’d hope they’d bounce.”

“And if they’re Watchers?”

Giles munched some pepper slices. “Then I’d hope the Slayers will catch them.”

“God, that’s so irresponsible.” Xander threw down his own fork and rose. “One of us better go do the grown-up thing and stop them.” He’d actually gone several paces before he pulled up sharply, turned and grinned. “I see what you did there, old man.” He wagged a finger. “Still needs taking care of though.”

“Quite right too,” agreed Giles as he watched Xander head off to exercise adult authority in the face of juvenile stupidity. He turned to explain to his remaining companions. “He just needed his confidence back. He’ll be fine now, I think.” Giles began to explain but Willow was, as ever, way ahead of him.

“You fixed him! See, I told you it was a Watcher thing,” she declared in triumph.

Her beaming smile was infectious and Giles’ good humour at the way the day was turning out continued to improve.

Kennedy approved too. “And all without the aid of strong drink, I’m impressed. Though…” she broke off and looked over his shoulder. “You might want one now.”

Willow’s face had dropped rather sharply. “Uh oh,” she said. “Do you want me to teleport you someplace?”

Giles had never really given much credence to the idea that Watchers and Slayers can detect each other’s proximity, but at Willow’s look of alarm and the way his own hairs on the back of his neck were standing to attention, he was pretty confident that Buffy was heading over for a bit of chat.

An electric hush fell across the tables in the luncheon area and even Kennedy had taken something akin to a defensive position ready to spring to his defence as Buffy came to a stop about six inches away from his ear.

“Mr Giles. I would like a word with you,” she said formally. “In your office, please, now.”

There was a sort of gasp from the listening audience.

“Of course, Miss Summers,” he replied equally gravely and leaving his lunch, he rose with as much dignity as he could muster and fell into sharp step behind her.

She strode purposefully through the crowds who stopped and gaped in shock at the spectacle. Giles followed quickly behind her trying not to smirk at being hauled to the headmaster’s study. She was his boss after all; it probably wasn’t a laughing matter.

They reached the office in silence. Giles opened the door for her and caught a disdainful glance from the damn portrait of his predecessor as he ushered Buffy in and shut off his escape route. He decided to ignore Sir Henry and focus a smile at the Slayer. She didn’t return it.

“So, just what was ‘See Buffy, run. Run Buffy run’ all about?” She glared at him with her hands on her hips, and Giles rather shamefully, couldn’t keep his amusement in check in longer. He spluttered a roar of laughter, then pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to hide the worst of his giggling.

“I thought you’d enjoy being part of the game a bit more,” he managed to squeak before breaking off into another laughing fit that he tried to hide by coughing. “Sorry,” he added and tried to compose himself.

Buffy shook her head with mild amusement and waited.

“Have you finished yet?”

He bit back another fit of giggles, stretched his neck and managed to look her in the face.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good to hear,” she responded but then in a quiet and rather serious voice she changed the subject.  “Actually, that’s not what I want to talk about. Take a seat, Giles. There’s something else we need to discuss.”

It sounded terrifically formal, so he took one of the wooden chairs used by parents and he was surprised when, instead of commanding the room by sitting behind the desk, she sat by his side on the other parent chair and eyed him steadily.  The action did at least shield him from Sir Henry’s disapproval as she began. “I’ve been talking with the staff here about your work to date and they are really unhappy about-”

He clenched the handkerchief firmly and interrupted her. “Well, I’m sorry if I have made them unhappy. And that they feel they have to complain to you. I did my best, Buffy, because you asked me to. We both knew it was just until you could find someone more suited. I don't really belong here.”

“Whoa, back up there. They are unhappy that you want to leave. Everyone I have spoken to has been full of praise for what you’ve accomplished.”

“Oh.” He shifted in his chair to avoid her eyes. “They are probably just telling you what you want to hear.”

“I don’t think so, Giles. I’ve been getting a lot of positive feedback. Just now I was talking to this one kid that lost his whole family while he was here. He didn’t know what was happening and the old Headmaster just kept lecturing him about how everyone had to stand firm and do their duty when called upon. He says he was treated like he was destined to be cannon fodder and only felt safe when you came and started talking about rebuilding and choices.”

“If it’s the one I’m thinking of, he doesn’t want to be a Watcher.”

“Oh he told me that. He wants to be an architect.” Giles nodded to confirm they were talking of the same child. “Apparently you got in some books for the library and have promised him help with university applications and scholarships?”

“I can explain-” But it was her turn to interrupt.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. Giles, the people here, the staff, the kids, they look up to you. The only person who doesn’t want you to stay on seems to be you. Why is that?”

Giles thought and twirled the handkerchief through his fingers.

“Do you want to come back and work with me?” Buffy pressed softly. “Is that it?

“No,” he replied honestly. “Having my skull caved in periodically has lost a lot of its whimsy. I miss you, but I don’t miss the near death experiences that come with you.” He turned and smiled and she nodded patiently. Clearly he couldn’t joke his way out of explaining how he felt. “It just feels weird being that side of the desk. I spent a large part of my early life resenting everything about this place. Being told I’d never make it as Watcher and shouldn’t be responsible for as much as a packet of paperclips. Old ghosts and demons I suppose.”

She contemplated him for a moment. “If you want the job permanently it's yours, but I'm not going to force you if you don't feel comfortable. Think it over.” He nodded to please her and they both rose. He opened the door for her again and she ducked through before turning to make one further statement.

“Oh and Giles, one more thing. After lunch, when it’s my turn to bat…I am so going to kick your ass.”

@@@

Andrew responded to Giles’ display with the bat by placing him as first slip fielder, next to himself as wicket-keeper and on hand to reflex catch any misjudged shots that flew off the edge of the bat and behind. Giles was actually impressed by the reasoning that based on his hand eye coordination to hit the ball, he might be quite good at catching at close range too. It also afforded him the opportunity to watch the game at close quarters and to observe where each bowler chose to bounce the ball before it reached the batter, and importantly, the subtle bumps in the earth and their effect to change the trajectory of the ball. Sadly, it wasn’t making much difference against Kennedy and her team. She had strode out as one of the pair of opening batsmen and had been effortlessly swatting away any ball of a decent length and clocking up the runs at a far quicker rate than Andrew’s team had managed.

Giles watched Andrew keenly trying to motivate his team, laughing and joking and trying to fit in to his picture of England. It was clear he wanted to win the match, but not at the expense of enjoying himself and Giles marvelled at the maturity of the young man.

Helena, Kennedy’s batting partner suddenly mistimed a big hit and it flew backwards between Giles and Andrew. To everyone’s surprise, it was Andrew that dived, stuck out his glove, caught the ball and rolled, still clutching his trophy. The crowd and his team mates erupted in cheers and applause at his exploits and Andrew beamed in triumph, surprised even at his own achievement. The warmth of the response of his teammates and friends was genuine and Giles was suddenly struck by the realisation that Andrew wasn’t trying to fit in at all. He was already there, a piece of the place that everyone accepted; he fitted in as Andrew of course. Giles patted him on the shoulder and offered his own congratulations.

Helena’s dismissal at the end of a bowling spell meant it was Buffy’s turn to bat and she walked out confidently to the middle, swinging her bat aggressively and sending a knowing smirk to Giles’ direction. He merely smiled languidly in return. Kennedy was due to face the next bowler initially but Giles knew that Buffy would be keen to take strike as soon as possible and try to humiliate him.

He turned to Andrew and addressed him formally. “Captain, I’d like to bowl please.”

“Are you sure? I mean, can you?” Andrew flustered. “I mean it’s a lot of running, I mean-”

Giles had heard enough and interrupted, “Andrew, give me the damn ball.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What speed do you pitch, Giles? Fast, Medium, Sluggish Old Man?” taunted Kennedy as she took her stance.

Giles gave no answer, instead signalling to everyone fielding to come in a little closer. He then took only a few paces before turning to prepare to deliver the ball. All the other bowlers had started considerably further back to get up speed and Buffy at non-striker’s end was less than impressed.

“That’s your run up?” she mocked, “Oh come on Giles, you could at least try to-” she was interrupted by Giles releasing the ball towards Kennedy. It swung in mid-air, pitched into the ground and then took a surprisingly different trajectory. Kennedy swung and missed it, the ball clattered into the stumps behind.

“Howzat!” shouted Andrew jubilantly.

“Yes.” Ms Myers from Mystics raised her finger, “You’re out.”

“What? What was that? That was magick, he must have cheated,” complained Buffy. “Umpire! No way he can make the ball do that.”

“No. I didn’t detect any magick,” Ms Myers said firmly. “It was a rather fine example of spin bowling if I may say so.”

“Shoot,” cursed Kennedy as she traipsed back to the changing area in disgust. As she reached a nervous Willow struggling into the leg pads, Kennedy turned back, gave a power salute and shouted, “Knock his bails off, Buffy,” then she asked Willow, “Is that an appropriate thing to shout?”

“I really don’t think so, sweetie,” gulped Willow, who waddled out and remembered how much she hated sports, and why this was such a bad idea, and she why should never have agreed if she couldn’t use magick.

“Come on Willow, you’ve got the batter’s end,” shouted Buffy to encourage her. “Show the old man who’s teaching who.”

“Buffy, please be quiet.” Willow grumbled, aware that Giles was tossing the ball up and watching it spin before he caught it, an activity that conveyed both languidness and menace in equal measure.

She tried a winning smile and pleaded, “Just remember Giles, I’ve always loved you. I’ve always been your favourite.”

“You tried to kill him once,” Buffy reminded her, “Come on Willow, from this distance, hit it hard and you could take his head clean off.”

“Shut up Buffy, please.  You are _so_ not helping.”

Over by the scoreboard, Mrs Grant anxiously waved Xander over to join her. “Should we be worried about those two?” she asked.

“Giles and Buffy? Why?”

“I’d hate anything to happen to him, but she is the Slayer.”

“Yeah, but she’s not going to hurt him. It’s just a thing they do. First time he broke out the broadswords I thought we’d be scraping minced Watcher out the carpet for weeks, but no, for all their contesting everything as if the planet were at stake, they get on pretty good and neither of them will get really hurt. Trust me. It’s a Giles and Buffy thing.”

“If you say so.”  Mrs Grant was uncertain but she looked back wistfully back to the centre of the pitch. “It would be a shame to lose him now. He’s been here three months, straightening everything out. Everyone has been pleased with the new direction he’s taken the place, but I must say, this is the first day I’ve seen him look like he’s enjoying himself.”

Enjoying himself didn’t cover the half of it. In all his years of training with Buffy, her natural abilities had completely trounced all the hard work and effort he put into learning combat. Quite simply, she had mopped the floor with him every time they trained and yet here she was, at a disadvantage. And it was brilliant.

He bowled another delivery that saw her swing again and miss by only the narrowest of margins. It wouldn’t last, the rules of the game didn’t care how many she missed and she was getting closer. He knew she was a quick study and would start to blast him around the ground shortly, but for now he savoured the moment. Finally, Giles had found something she couldn’t do instinctively and it was like all his birthdays and Christmases combined.

He tried again, the ball hit the roughed up patch of ground at its edge, then bounced erratically. Giles had managed to spin the ball away from Buffy and saw the gleam in her eye as she anticipated its trajectory. She launched an almighty swing but the ball turned in mid-flight, Buffy’s gleam turned to panic as she lunged further to make the shot. She missed, became unbalanced, tripped and fell onto the stumps and bails behind her.

It looked such a gloriously inept manoeuvre that the crowd lost no time in bursting into hysterical laughter as Giles ran over to her. She lay somewhat dazed, leg pads, bat, wooden stumps and bails everywhere but then managed a wry grin at him.

“Oh you are so fired, Giles.”

“Are you alright?” he asked courteously.

“Well, I’ve managed to not stake myself, no thanks to you. But I’m wising up to your moves,” she said as he helped her to her feet. “The next one you bowl, I’m going to hit you out of the park.”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Summers,” Ms Myers as Umpire spoke. “You’re out.”

“But the ball never touched the wicket,” Buffy pleaded.

The umpire was unmoved by her protest. “But you did. I’m afraid that’s one of the ways you can be out.”

Giles’ eyes flashed in amusement. “I did offer to give you a list.”

Buffy took back the bat he had chivalrously picked up for her and commented, “Well, you’ve certainly cheered up.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged as he looked around the crowd. On the far side their happy faces were dappled as the sunshine cut through the ancient oak trees he remembered climbing as a boy.  “I think I’m finally getting the school spirit.”

Buffy walked back to the changing area to applause and some good natured ribbing, and it was noticeable that her young fan club no longer regarded her with the quite the same awe. One or two were even staring at Giles in goggle-eyed admiration, but Giles decided he’d worry about that new problem later. Right now, he had a cricket match on his hands. He turned to Andrew.

“Captain, can I offer some advice about fielding placements?”

Andrew looked both relieved and thrilled. “Oh god, yes please! Can we, can we actually win this match?”

Giles looked at the unfavourable scoreboard. Kennedy’s remaining batters didn’t need many more runs to overtake Andrew’s total and win. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But I do love a good lost cause.”

And at the scoring area Xander spoke with a degree of pride to Mrs Grant. “Like I said, it’s a Giles and Buffy thing.”

@@@

It had been a long drawn out evening of summer. After the match, people had moved to reclaim the pitch for more parties and one or two people even practiced with bats and ball. The kitchen staff had prepared meat and vegetables and set up several barbeques areas, there was even a whole hog roast. A small number of parties decamped to the lake and swam and splashed happily among the evening insect life, the older students looking out for the younger ones. Electric blue dragonflies ignored them all and went about their business.

Giles walked the grounds by himself, smelling an evening scent of honeysuckle that transported him to his own memories of staring at the stars through the open window in his dorm and listening to the barn owls prepare to hunt. Parents would start to arrive in the next few days and there were the graduation ceremonies to attend to. Activities and vacations had also been planned for those with no families. Giles marvelled at how many were staying with families of friends they had made at the school. He’d forgotten that the wider Watcher Family could be broad and charitable. In butting heads with Council leaders as a young man, he’d forgotten the other Watchers, the ones who served in whatever capacity was asked of them, because the fight was just. There had been so many good people who had given their lives because it was their choice to do what they could and now they had left their children with him. It was humbling to realise he was entrusted with their legacies and how very much he wanted to do his best for the future generations.

Having done his rounds he went to the Guest quarters but found no sign of Buffy, Xander, or Willow. He was disappointed but accepted they had their own lives. He enjoyed see all of them again. Ever since he’d known them, they’d accepted him as part of their group and he’d always felt he could be himself around them. They were happy to let him be Giles and equally important, he was happy to let himself be Giles with them. When he thought of the pressures he’d been put under a young age to take responsibility and be in charge, he loved how his Sunnydale friends hadn’t given two hoots to any notion he should lead them just because he was older. Buffy was the Slayer and that was fine with him.

@@@

Returning to his study to check on his messages, Giles was surprised to hear voices inside. He pushed open the door and was met with a deluge of mismatched furniture huddled in a circle in his office. The harsh wooden chairs that faced the desk had been pushed to the wall and the empty space filled with Xander, Buffy, Andrew, Willow and Kennedy, sprawling on chair cushions, beaten up old sofas, duvets, pillows and sleeping bags that they had evidently dragged in. They were drinking beer and juice and messily sharing from six pizza boxes and tubs of ice-cream and beamed at Giles.

“You had the biggest space,” Kennedy explained. “So the party is here.”

“Party?”  Giles said in a wavering voice, conscious of what sort of glare the portrait of Sir Henry was probably giving him.

Xander jumped up and put a firm hand on his shoulder to guide him to a sofa. “Think of it as a Senior Management Team building exercise,” he suggested as Andrew passed across a bottle of beer.

“Much better,” Giles said sarcastically, but he grinned and looked around for a glass to pour his beer into.

“Actually,” Buffy began. “We were just discussing my complete lack of credibility as Senior Slayer and Head of the Council. People now think I’m the biggest klutz going thanks to you.”

“That’s not such a bad thing,” he replied as he carefully maintained a head on his beer as he poured. “You’ll be amazed how far you can get with that.”

“Mmm. Anyway, Xander remembered how much you like anchovies,” Buffy said as she passed across a full pizza box. “We were just talking about how we could spend more time here. Help teach some classes. Help with some of the rebuilding work.”

“Actually I only ever ordered anchovies because you lot didn’t like them.” He pulled a particularly stringy slice free. “Having more of your time would be great for the students. And,” he paused, oddly nervous as to how his next statement would be received, “and I’d like it too.”

“Does that mean you’re taking the job permanently?” Buffy picked up shrewdly.

He took the plunge. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

Willow was the first to react. She whooped and jumped across at him as Xander declared, “Group Hug!” and suddenly Giles found himself knocked over and under a sea of arms and legs and congratulations, and wearing a fair amount of pizza. It took him some time to extract himself, hugging them all in turn, even Andrew as they wished him well. He couldn’t imagine what Sir Henry would think. They’d certainly made his first few official moments in charge terribly indecorous.

“It’s been such a perfect day,” stated Willow as they sat again and passed around the pizza boxes. “Everyone will be happy because you are staying on. Even Mrs Grant.”

Giles had his doubts about that but he looked up hopefully. “Can I fire her now?” But Buffy shook her head.

“Oh and Mr Hodges is happy because his team did all the clearing up,” Willow resumed. “Apparently he bet them Andrew’s team would win.”

Kennedy was affronted. “What happened to never bet against a Slayer?”

“Evidently never bet against a devious Watcher takes precedence,” Willow explained.

Giles giggled behind his beer glass.

“Which reminds me,” Andrew interrupted. “I’ve spoken to Mr Hodges as well. About us having a baseball field next summer.”

“Oh dear Lord.” Giles nearly choked, but Xander slapped him hard on the back as Andrew continued.

“I think it’s fair we alternate, culturally. He said to ask you about using the meadow at the back.”

Giles frowned. “That used to be the old polo field.”

Kennedy’s eyes had lit up. “What? We have a polo field? Giles, sober up, we have a polo field?” She may have dressed ‘street’ but it was daddy’s money that paid for that look.

“Horsies?  Willow brightened too. “Seriously? Giles, horsies?”

“We have the stabling capability,” he admitted airily.

Kennedy put her beer down and scrambled to her feet. “I need to check out that meadow.”

Andrew was equally quick to his feet. “We could rent some horses,” he said in excitement. “Or invite exhibition teams to play. How many players are on a polo team anyway? What are the rules?”

They left, closing the door on the four original members of what had been coined the Scooby gang, and Giles took the opportunity to stand, stretch and receive another baleful glare from his predecessor’s portrait. He was just thinking he was going to have to do something about that when Buffy interrupted his silence.

“Was he eaten?”

“What?”

She pointed at the picture that had absorbed his attention. “In my experience principals are nearly always eaten,” she said with conviction.

Giles looked at her over the top of his glasses. “That doesn’t bode particularly well.”

“Says the man who bought the Magic Box,” she countered.

Xander pulled apart another pizza slice and took her side. “Face it Giles, you enjoy bucking a trend.”

Giles shrugged and looked back at the portrait of the man that had made his school life so challenging. “Anything trying to eat him would have choked. He liked to weed out the undesirables. Anyone he didn’t think fitted in, the wrong sort of element as he saw it, all the people I liked. Three of my friends were expelled, two of them went on to be Watchers anyway, largely just to spite him. Jon Peters was killed by a vampire in 1986. Susan Halliday died with her potential when the bringers attacked. And then Joshua Trieshman...” Giles broke off and shook his head sadly.

“Worse?” Willow breathed.

“Much. He became a stockbroker. Owns a house in Surrey and a yacht in Spain.”

“Tragic.”

“Yes, I gather it gets terribly humid this time of the year.”

“How come you didn't get expelled?” Buffy asked pertinently.

“Oh it wasn't for the want of trying on both sides, but my father was overseas and acting as Watcher to the Slayer and that meant he had to be protected from the mundane problems back home.”

“Kids aren’t mundane problems,” Xander said softly.

“No.” Giles swooped impulsively, pulled one of the wooden chairs in front of the picture on stood on it. “No, they are not.” He was eye to eye with the man now.  “He had this favourite refrain you see.”  And Giles mimicked the old man’s voice. “’Never forget I run this school, R.E. Giles, not you’. Well guess again, old man.” He ran his fingers around the edge of the picture frame looking for a suitable grip.

Buffy rose to her feet, picking up on the Ripper gleam in his eyes. “Giles, what are you thinking?”

He replied with a wolfish glee. “Oh, I’m thinking bonfire.” He tugged at the picture frame and a small splinter embedded itself in his thumb. “Ouch. Bloody hell, old man! That’s it. You’re out of here. Give me a hand to get him off the wall.”

Buffy took a more cautious handhold, but Sir Henry resisted. “Whoa, is he glued on or something? Is it magick or is he nailed right through the wall and supporting the bookcases on the other side?”

“He was always was a stubborn old bugger, even on canvas,” Giles growled. Xander and Willow took position either side of him, and Buffy looked to use her strength at the pivot point. “On Three,” Giles commanded and they pulled on his count.

There was an almighty crash as the frame and picture came away and the force they’d exerted sent them all flying backwards and into the heap of cushions for an indecorous second time. The canvas ripped under someone’s foot and that set them off laughing at the absurdity of the team that had prevented seven apocalypses should have become so engaged on this life and death struggle with a piece of Art.

The door to Giles’ office flew open and Mrs Grant’s voice was heard, demanding to know the meaning of all the noise. They stopped laughing abruptly, even Buffy choosing to hide behind Giles’ larger body size as he rose and attempted to regroup some of his dignity.

“Good evening, Mrs Grant. We’re doing a spot of re-decorating,” he said suavely.

Her penetrating eyes looked at the wall, the broken frame and ripped canvas, the beer bottles and pizza remnants, and then bored into Giles.

“But how on earth did you manage to do that?” The admiration in her voice unmistakable. “Mr Hodges and I tried taking a crowbar to the old devil but he wouldn’t have it.”

Giles let out the breath he’d been holding and spluttered, “But I thought you liked him?”

“Liked him?” She actually shuddered. “Just be thankful you never had to work for him. Stubborn old fool was lost in the nineteenth century. I only stayed on because someone needed to look out for the welfare of the school.” She smiled in amusement and comprehension. “Re-decorating sounds good to me.”

Giving a last look at the mess and the unruly partygoers she decided to make her exit. “We have a lot of work to get through tomorrow,” she reminded Giles. “So I’ll see you here tomorrow at eight am sharp, Rupert.”

“Eight-thirty, Mrs Grant,” Giles replied steadily.

She smiled at him with warmth. “Eight-thirty it is, Headmaster.”

“See,” Willow said in triumph to Buffy as the secretary left. “I said it was a Giles thing.”

 

_The end_


End file.
